Chapter 1:The Night It Rained — Eveline meets Ares
Chapter 1
EVELINE FROST
I pulled my coat tighter around my shoulders as the rain pounded down, relentless and unforgiving. Each step on the slick cobblestones sent splashes up around my shoes. I cursed under my breath — no buses, no cabs, and my apartment was still a twenty-five-minute walk away.
Thunder rumbled overhead, shaking the darkened streets of the small Italian town. Street lamps flickered, casting trembling shadows that danced with the pouring rain. My hair plastered to my face, and my shoes squelched with every hurried step, but I couldn't slow down — the storm offered no mercy.
A distant flash of lightning illuminated the empty streets, revealing dark alleys and shuttered shops. For a moment, I thought I might actually be alone in the world. My grip tightened around my tote bag, the flowers inside trembling as if sensing my unease.
My pace faltered as a sudden roar cut through the rain — a sleek black SUV hurtled past, tires throwing puddles across the street.
Before I could react, a torrent of water splashed over me, drenching my beautiful red coat and plastering my hair to my face. I gasped, stumbling back against the curb, shivering and drenched, the chill biting through my soaked layers.
My blue eyes widened in dismay. “Oh no… not again,” I muttered, brushing the dripping strands of hair from my face. The flowers in my tote were soggy, petals bending under the assault of rainwater.
Somewhere in the distance, the thunder rolled, echoing my panic, and for a heartbeat, I felt utterly alone — stranded in the storm, with no cab, no bus, and twenty-five minutes of wet, treacherous streets ahead.
And then… a shadow in the darkened street caught my eye. A figure leaning casually against the wet cobblestones, watching me with eyes that seemed to cut right through the rain
I stumbled through the rain, soaked, shivering, clutching her tote to protect the flowers. My coat clung to my body, my hair plastered to my face. I had just turned a corner when a rough hand grabbed my arm, spinning me around.
The man was a street thug, tall and sneering, dripping with arrogance and menace. “Where do you think you’re going, sweetheart?” he hissed. His breath smelled of alcohol, and his grip tightened painfully around my wrist.
Panic surged through me. I struggled, twisting, trying to push him away, but he forced me against the wall of a narrow alley. My heels slipped on the wet cobblestones, and a muffled sob escaped my lips.
And then — the roar of a motorcycle cut through the rain. The thug froze mid-advance, eyes narrowing at the sound.
A handsome man appeared as if he had materialized from the storm itself. Jet-black leather, wet hair plastered to his chiseled face, piercing green eyes blazing, and a motorcycle engine growling beneath him like a warning.
Without hesitation, he kicked the bike to a stop. His boots hit the ground, sending a spray of rainwater over the cobblestones. He stepped forward, calm but lethal, a predator assessing a threat.
The thug laughed nervously. “Who the hell are you?”
The man didn’t answer. His hand shot out in a blur. With devastating precision, he grabbed the thug by the collar, slammed him against the wall, and punched with the force of a hammer — one, two, three blows — and the man crumpled, gasping and clutching his jaw.
His eyes didn’t leave the thug's “Touch her again, and I swear… you won’t walk away.” His voice was low, controlled, deadly. Every word carried authority, threat, and unshakable power.
The thug scrambled backward, fear finally replacing arrogance, disappearing into the dark, wet streets.
He turned to me. The storm reflected in his eyes, his chest rising slightly from the exertion, rain glistening on his leather jacket and strong shoulders. He extended a hand, calm but commanding, and said simply:
“Are you hurt?”
My heart raced, eyes wide, soaked hair sticking to my face, but something about him made me feel… safe, even in the rain..
